


Some Exclusions May Apply

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Category: Fast & Furious 6 (2013), Fast Five (2011), Fast and the Furious Series, Furious 7 (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character(s) of Color, Discrimination, F/M, Families of Choice, Gender Issues, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, POV Multiple, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Sexism, Slow Build, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew alphas went with omegas or betas.  Someone should've told Brian and Dom that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mia

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To The Sky and What Falls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969818) by [Aurora Cee (SC182)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee). 



> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> Vague continuation of To The Skies and What Falls.
> 
> A/N: Takes place in an A/B/O universe where mixed dynamic pairs are the norm (e.g. heterodynamic). With the exception of Beta/Beta pairings, homodynamic relationships are controversial, less stigmatized in some core countries, but still globally stigmatized, leading to risk of injury, death, and other unimaginable cruelties for A/A or o/o couples. Brian and Dom of course challenge the stereotypes and do things their way. Mother Nature can take a seat in the face of their combined awesomeness but even Brian and Dom have to prepare to take on the rest of the world in true outlaw style. 
> 
> Takes place across movies 5-7. Warnings for sexism, A/B/O-specific homophobia, and references to off-screen violence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn’t doubt that her brother and Brian could lead and love, just doubted that they knew how to fill the spaces that required a softer touch, not simply the instinctual call towards loyalty and duty.

Never had rice and beans been so good. When Rosa offered Brian and her plates of _arroz com feijão_ , Mia dove into hers like a dog gone wild. Weeks on the road hadn’t left much time for savoring the local color when hauling ass was the primary objective after fleeing the lonely interstate outside of Lompoc.

The food was definitely good—savory with just the right amount of spice and heat to remind her of home. Mia didn’t miss the little look that Rosa and Vince shared, concern written in the silent up-sweep of a dark brow; the way she and Brian were eating probably contradicted whatever stories Vince had rhapsodized about his family in L.A. Hunger and desperation lessened Mia’s ability to care about appearances, even less about the social graces.

“Obrigado,” Mia told them as Brian’s fork slide across his plate, the sound harsh like the ghost of her mother’s scolding for showing such bad manners. Brian smiled and repeated her thanks, catching her eyes as they shared a small grin.

Vince shrugged once, giving Brian an array of his of unimpressed expressions—landing somewhere around # 3 that included a too bemused to be swayed scowl for Brian and a small smile for Mia. “Our casa is su casa and we got more than one pot in the kitchen unlike back in the day.” Vince said, opening his arm for Rosa to lean into while she held their son, “So you don’t have to slow down now. Hoover it all you like.”  

Mia’s hunger demanded a second go-round and Brian’s nearly clean plate declared that he was on the same page. This time, Brian followed Rosa to the kitchen, thanking her again and working his charm to make Nico laugh, returning shortly with the steaming pot of rice and beans for them to split.

Eating served a two-fold purpose: one, the food gave Mia a momentary focus, a series of actions to pour her attention into rather than let her thoughts circle towards panic. A long track of thoughts like _what have I done? We can’t go back. It’s just us that reminded her that going home wasn’t an option._ Two, the scent of the food overwhelmed everything else, mostly scents that were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

When they were done eating, Brian stacked the plates carefully then through a combination of miming his intentions and tram-tracking broken Portuguese together offered to clean up. Some things hadn’t changed; the Buster making Vince laugh was one of those eternal truths that could be relied upon. Vince chuckled as he went to put his son to sleep, his son’s little head tucked against his neck, snoring quietly as he clutched his Papi, inhaling the familiar scent of motor oil and sweat, now that the battle to remain awake had been lost. Nico’s curiosity for the strangers at the table wasn’t as strong as the embrace of his bed and a full belly.

Brian might have followed after them but the sudden shade of green that filled his cheeks said otherwise. Mia stepped up to finish the job at the sink, accepting Rosa’s company with a small grin when she passed over a wet plate. The rote motions were soothing, familiar despite being in a foreign land.   _Focus on the water. Focus on the soap._ Anything else except her worry for Dom or her worry for Brian.  But worrying was inevitable, Mia supposed, because just then Rosa leaned in just a touch too close and took a slight sniff at her neck. An action just subtle enough to not violate general scenting protocols.

Rosa’s question was already formed and rolling off her tongue, “Are you—“

Mia stopped her with a curt shake of her head. “No, I’m not.” But she carried the smell of a growing pup. A scent that didn’t smell quite like her as it grew more potent.

Rosa accepted the second plate and wiped it slowly with a cloth as she assembled her words with her scattered English. “If it’s not you then who? Because he is alpha, yes?”

Yes, Brian was an _alpha_. Very much so. His pretty face would say otherwise but everything else: his posture, his attitude, his bravado, and the scent cemented his dynamic. These features had drawn her to him when he’d first come around. All things she’d tried to hold onto the night before Brian and Dom rode off to face Braga to exact a brutal vengeance.

When his lips touched hers, so soft and familiar, those seconds had been everything she wanted for the last five years so she cruised through the moments in the kitchen praying that the brakes never be pulled. Before she could hope for more, she found herself alone again, listening to the duet of fast engines speed away from her.

Watching Brian storm out of the courtroom, people parted like the Red Sea as they were hit by the scent of enraged alpha; that day, Mia knew she couldn’t ask for more.

Six weeks after they got Dom off the prison bus, Mia knew why she couldn’t want more.

“Is there a clinic nearby? We need to go tomorrow.” Not specifying who needed the clinic was a deliberate choice. She trusted Vince with her life; by extension, she trusted Rosa, but people had a funny way of disappointing her when it came to matters of the heart.

Hadn’t it been hard for her sitting beside Brian every day inhaling his changing scent that was shifting from the smooth spice of cinnamon and clean ocean salt to include softer notes of pure silver that Mia instantly recognized as Dom?

The long miles of their new exile were marked by emotions: Jalisco was hurt, Oaxaca was resignation; Veracruz was anger; and the Caribbean Sea lapping at the white shores of Belize offered her acceptance. As they stood on top of a mountain taking in the broad arc of city lights in Cuidad de Guatemala, Mia felt fear when Brian leaned against her and she picked up the scent of pup that would not be ignored. A scent that was undeniably Brian and Dom.

Sometimes Mia wished that she wasn’t so smart. Big brains won battles, Dom always said, but big brains also filled in the blanks too quickly. Her mind easily sketched out the rough details of what transpired during the four days between the prison bus jacking and the pair waiting for her when she got off the ferry from Baja Sur to Sinaloa. She hadn’t second guessed the scent suppressants. Nothing out of the ordinary when they tried to blend in as just another group of betas.

Because Mia loved her alpha big brother, she long accepted that he liked other alphas. Her parents were from an older generation where alphas were strictly for omegas and betas while betas had the freedom to love just about anyone. Omegas in love always got second looks and smirks for the titillation factor but two alphas? Two omegas was only marginally better than two alphas. Mixed pairs were better than homogenous pairs but two omegas or two alphas were no one’s take as an ideal match.

Mia refused to date alphas and Dom’s friends, the former because she was an independent beta and the latter because she didn’t want Dom’s leftovers.

So when Brian appeared at her counter with his sunny smile and handsome face with no definable scent, Mia believed that this beautiful beta boy with good manners had been sent to her: the prince of her dreams. Her fanciful thoughts took flight, imagining that they could be just two betas together—without scents, without caring about the politics, just making it day to day without worrying about social rules or physiological obligations.

The little dream she lived out in her head vanished when Brian revealed he was a cop; learning that Brian was a cop hurt less than Brian actually being an alpha.

Rosa placed a gentle hand on Mia’s forearm after she put away the last plate. “I will take you there in the morning. It is okay.” Rosa’s offered grin allowed Mia to unload the burden of secrecy, to trust Rosa then with Brian’s life and the next Toretto pup.

Instead of another pat, Rosa folded her arms around Mia’s shoulders then pulled her close until there was nothing but the calm neutral scent of beta and warm pup surrounding them and Mia melted against her, releasing the tension of weeks of stress, worry for her brother, and the brewing maelstrom of uncertainty.

After another squeeze, Rosa murmured, “The two of you sleep now. In the morning, we’ll see that everything will be okay.”

* * *

 

When Dom arrived the next morning, Mia and Brian were already gone. The last of their money afforded them the privacy of a small exam room with her steady hand maneuvering a Doppler wand older than dirt over Brian’s flat stomach. Their eyes locked when the wand swept ten centimeters above his pubic bone, the sounds of the favela growing quieter as Mia amped up the volume until the percussive rumble emanating through the speakers filled the small room.

The morning slurry of voices and cars waking in the favela couldn’t be blamed for the tide of sound inside the exam room.  As the volume rose on the Doppler, the _whoosh-whoosh-voom_ of the heartbeat rumbled, echoing a familiar growl.

Mia watched Brian’s grin brighten with awareness. Of course, the pup’s heartbeat would beat just like the Charger.

* * *

On the train, they passed most of the ride by having a series of conversations constructed entirely of smiles. To a casual observer, they were just a young couple in love. Sure, there was love there between them; Mia’s love having been remodeled from romantic to familial as soon as she recognized the new scents on Brian’s skin.

She still had a problem reading Brian, so interpreting his surprise wasn’t as obvious as it should’ve been. Maybe he fooled himself into not knowing what was happening to him. Or maybe, he didn’t know: Brian was an alpha, after all, and this little detour with the birds and the bees really wasn’t talked about. Alphas were taught how pups were made, not how they were carried.

But this new happiness she was experiencing came as a byproduct of Brian’s happiness. And the prospect of Dom’s happiness made her utter a quick and silent prayer for larger windows wherever they landed next, not desiring to be punch-drunk on her brother’s pheromones when he finally got the big news.

Brian looked away from the wide golden plains falling away under the train’s track. “What’re you thinking?” He asked her, failing to rein in his smile.

A reflexive smirk crossed her lips as she spread out a short stack of papers that previously felt like extra weight in the bottom of her purse until the morning gave them purpose.

“Tokyo. Moscow. Goa…well, not Moscow anymore, it’s too cold.” Among other reasons. As she sat, Mia shuffled a series of potential getaways to her mental checklist. The new prospects were quickly added to the list by virtue of having the right political connections and social freedoms for all dynamics.

Brian surveyed the splayed brochures. “What about ‘em?

Mia tapped her cover. “Bet you can’t tell me what they have in common?”

“No extradition.” Brian answered brightly. Freedom being the second best incentive for these prospective places.

“And?” Mia prompted. “Hint: something that’s more important.”

Tracking the movement of his hands, Mia watched the slight detour Brian’s right hand traveled over the loose cotton of his t-shirt, protective instinct already guiding him to shield the pup from harm. Letting her imagination run wild created a series of ideas as long as the train of the number of unique ways that Brian would handle the double dose of protective instinct and his natural impulsiveness.

Clinically, she knew how it happened: medical school has removed the stars from her eyes about where babies came from and love was the least predictable variable involved. Mia wasn’t cynical at all. Willfully ignorant, yes, yes, and more yes.

Not for the first time, Mia realized Brian was the strangest alpha she’d ever met. One who led and submitted, stubborn and independent like an alpha, but backed down—even when he knew he could win—like an omega.

Cue the lightbulb: _Huh_.

Maybe the questions she hadn’t bothered answering were obvious answers.

Big brothers did the heavy lifting. Sisters made the designs for said lifting and built constructs for the future. It was often said that alphas led families, betas filled them, and omegas held them together. She didn’t doubt that her brother and Brian could lead and love, just doubted that they knew how to fill the spaces that required a softer touch, not simply the instinctual call towards loyalty and duty.

Brian shifted his eyes from the rolling golden plains back to her, giving her the sweet reveal of his smile. “On top of no extradition, I’m putting my money on liberal-minded being the other qualifier.”

“Exactly,” Mia answered.

As Mia watched the stealth approach of the truck from the left and the approach of textbook federal agents from the right, there was a realization that a lifetime of double duty was waiting for her.

Brian fingered through the brochures, the edge of a nail lingering on the covers that promised the most overt sunshine and warmth.  “We should go to the beach. I mean, we can’t be in Rio without going to the beach at least once.” Sunshine, wind, heat, water: only Brian could make their international gambit for freedom sound like a breezy working vacation. Signaling another reason why she—as in the sister, soon to be aunt, former clinical professional, beta—needed to stay, to keep them together.

Mia imagined not looking over her shoulder or his. “A stroll sounds nice—slow, yeah, but we’ve gotta get used to that for a while.”

“Just the four of us.” Brian told her.

 _Yeah, just us four_.


	2. Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the star of an After School Special was not how Rome expected Brazil to turn out.

Being the star of an After School Special was not how Rome expected Brazil to turn out. There was no book for what to expect when your alpha bff tells you he’s been knocked up by another alpha. Just thinking about the logistics had Rome aghast at the sheer amount of alpha in one situation. Because there was such a thing as just too much alpha, according to Roman Pearce, and Brian and _Just-Call-Me-Dominic_ equaled too much alpha.  

See, Brian was a terrible alpha--not really but he was. Made orders sound like really good suggestions. Co-signed the hell outta all of Rome’s foolishness when they were kids or upped the ante and made literal crazy look like absolutely sane, which was how Rome ended up plane-hopping and illegal border-crossing in order to swagger inside a musty warehouse in Rio to hear about an opportunity of a lifetime.

When he saw Tej pull up, he held his tongue—barely, because he was gonna be hella pissed if Brian got him down here just to sell him on some goddamn timeshare. Brian was a natural smartass but not the type to sell out his best bro like that.

Big homie in the tight t-shirt? _Hmmmmmmm_ , Rome thought, replicating his grandmama’s infamous hum which within one syllable took a journey through examination, discernment, and absolute judgement. All Rome had passed through as he eyed Big Homie hanging around Bri like he’d been selected America’s Next Top Bald BFF.

Being a beta was just as good as being an alpha if the one on the other side of the nose was Rome. He could smell trouble, spot it from ten miles out, and unlike a former Mr. Po-Po that he knew and loved, Rome had a good ole fashioned beta sense—or just good sense that allowed him to haul ass before it smacked him in the face with cuffs. Best believe he would get to the bottom of this situation, considering that little look he caught Brian throwing Stretch Armstrong while the rest of the International Rat Pack called roll; Rome had a feeling that he might prefer the real estate by the time Brian stepped up for the big reveal.

Let’s breeze through that one hundred million dollar proposal and five stolen Rio cop cars to later:

Rome’s chin rested on his chest, because the sudden gravitational shift of the conversation made his thoughts stupidly heavy. So he walked in a circle around the computer console like he was trying to wear a groove into the floor. Possibly a good option if he was trying to dig an escape hatch.

Damn his quick tongue, it was faster than his reflexes even though he’d lost out on that cool mill in the pot. _Congratulations but_ , he blurted, squashing the fiesta like a fly-swatter of uncool.  Quickly, he tacked on: “I’m not hatin’, Bri. You know me.” Rome hastily countered.

“We know you and this is the most ignorant you ever sounded,” Tej countered with a dismissive eye roll.

“Shut it, Shaft.” Rome directed at Tej before turning back to Brian. “This is not me being a hater. This is me being scared outta my smooth-cool-bald mind. My reasons,” he clapped his hands, pointing to their brainstorming board like it would magically transcribe his precipitous epic rant. “—are about as big as this goddamn country. Let’s start with: you’re on the run. You’re being hunted by a Terminator’s mulatto cousin. We standin’ around talkin’ bout money but right now, we don’t have none. Lastly, just cuz we’re cool--” pointing to the group at large, “doesn’t mean that the world is cool with…with…with…”

Long, tall, and probably deadly explained slid in for the assist, offering up in a cool accented voice. “Alphas together.”

“Alphas together, y’know making that strong love, yeah!” Rome had been alright in math, learning that A+B=C or more applicably: alpha plus betas or omegas made the world go round. Or, if you wanted a classic kid then betas always bred true. “It’s just that—and I can’t believe I’m gonna say this: I mean, this is me!” Being the voice of reason was not his forte; being cool was. “I’m sure you realize that money don’t buy safety.”

Of course, his new bro who understood the benefits and classic style of a close shave took exception to the superspeed of Rome’s mouth, sliding out of Brian’s orbit like the sun ready to crash into the cool surface of Rome’s planet. Armageddon was written so clearly on Dom’s face that Rome swore he heard Aerosmith wailing in the back of his mind but, like the hand of God, Brian took steps, or, well, just stuck out on an arm and gently stiff-armed Dom back into eclipse formation.

Then a whole conversation transpired in the span of seconds through eyes and blinking and okay, so, yeah, Rome got it that Brian and Dom couldn’t just do the rare alpha on alpha thing, instead they had to up the stakes by throwing on that mystical soul bond secret _something-something_ so that this would be one tough act to follow.

Brian gave Dom a reassuring pat on the shoulder before looking over at Rome. All cool and breezy easy and not radiating an ounce of irritation. “We know it’ll be tough and won’t be anything like easy even with millions to float us wherever we go. But tough builds character and it’ll keep my pup from having a head as big as yours, right?” Not even the head joke could squash Rome’s love for his bro.

Tej exhaled a snort full of beer. “Most definitely!” He added, grinning broadly in spite of Rome’s pouty—just a little—glare.

Now it was Brian’s turn to disengage from his big body anchor to amble towards Rome. As a kid, Brian had been on the right side of lanky, because they had too much energy and couldn’t go fast enough on their wobbly legs and grew in proportion to the amount of trouble they could find. Then they got older, filled out with muscles and height and Brian got pretty while Rome got handsome like a real true blue beta; but now, Rome looked at Brian—his brother in all ways that mattered—and realized how tired he looked and a little lacking in the meat on the bones category.

Rome was qualified for a gold medal in shit stirring, not today though, so he dropped the arms knotted on his chest, lifted his chin, and shoved that searching and judging _hmmmmm_ off his mental shelf.

“Lemme say that I know you like coming up with crazy-ass plans,” Rome looked to the peanut gallery for another assist, spotting a confirmatory head dip from Mr. Seoul-oh. “—So I know you’ll figure this out, hell you might even learn how to keep your head down--”realizing that he walked right into another head joke but continued speaking before tongues and brains could catch up. “I wanna make sure you’ll be fine, okay? I’ve always got your back, cuz.” Which was why Chino had been twice as hard to live through. Nothing hurt more than being trapped with feelings of betrayal.

“I know you’re looking out for me.” Brian said with too much sincerity, something to blame on hormones maybe? “I’ve got your back too, now with extra backup.” The hug that followed chilled Rome’s fire, making him feel like he was standing inside the eye of a storm of feelings. The scent of pup triggering the need to take a deep lungful, despite Dom’s shifting uneasiness. That was a normal alpha move. Hugs and deciding that raising a baby of the run sounded like a good plan was a Brian alpha move.

See, a terrible alpha.

Rome pulled back before it got weird. He pointedly looked Brian up and down and shook his head, causing Brian to ask, “Rome? Why are you—No, Rome don’t start.” Brian cautioned as Rome looked around him at Dom to direct a real serious question,” Hey Dom, I know you fast on the street and can make some mean barbecue, but you can’t work a regular two-eye, four-eye stove? Cuz you got my bruh and his baby lookin’ like they living on Diet Coke and rice cakes. That ain’t right, man!”

Brian might’ve tried to play-play bodyslam him but Mia put the kaboosh on that like a real stone cold referee, giving Brian real dark eyes promising gloom, doom, and a fierce asskicking. Like huge. Rome smirked as Brian was forced to chill out.

Dom offered Rome the beer he’d previously given to Brian. “I’m willing to learn Roman, so if you know some hits that’ll get him eating, then give me the deets, cuz I’m not making ten months’ worth of tuna sandwiches.”

Brian put a little frost behind his blue eyes. “I’m standing right here,” he snarked without shaking off the arm Dom slung across his shoulders.

“Oh, we know.” Rome grinned as he drank Brian’s beer, only feeling the slightest bit of guilt that it got better by the swallow and there would be plenty for Rome and none for Brian because Brian’s future had a big belly to go under his not so baggy shirts. Rome paused before tipping up the bottle again. “Since you thought this Mini-Me situation out, are you gonna get surgery or push--”

Then his beer was gone, swapping hands like a hot potato from Rome to Brian to Dom. “Nope, you just lost this.”

“What?” Rome started, stopping as Dom shook his head, reading the gesture as an invitation to a conversation that had been previously had and was not up for public consumption again. “Okay, no more questions.” Even if he was still ensuring that Brian would be okay to the fullest extent of the word. “Yo, Rico and Suave, y’all can turn back on the music, cuz we gotta celebrate one hundred million ways we’re gonna spoil my nephew.”

“Or my niece,” Mia smirked as he folded him into a quick hug.

Brian promised him an opportunity of a lifetime; he hadn’t said anything about the new family up for stakes. Rome, being a master of beta cool, could go with the flow and  didn’t have a problem with the fine print.


	3. Dom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom could stand his ground, reveled in how he controlled the elements and became the immovable object. Of course, Brian would drop into his life and derail its course like the smiling unstoppable force that he was.

Dom had a healthy respect for water. His encounters with the ocean usually involved calm waves interrupted by the hiccups of small crashes, and the placid palette of blue or black that reminded him of distant skies and too far roads that he longed to set his wheels on.

Maybe his pantheon of cars gods held a spot for Hermes while Brian’s welcomed Poseidon. They still met in the middle to revel in the power of the waves. 

Dom had lived on beaches, or just near them, since the long journey of his exile began but none had felt like home until now. Until he and Brian found a little bungalow, sturdy and open to the long sweet fingers of Arabian Sea breeze, and shared two-hundred sunsets and sunrises as passengers to a ride beyond their control.

This little detour into the waves began as a walk on the beach. The pace slow and comforting for Brian, making it totally fine by Dom.

“I know you’re hungry,” Dom said as he settled his chin over Brian’s shoulder, planting his feet into soft wet sand as Brian hummed back, now sliding his hands over Dom’s where they cradled the low heavy crest of his belly. “Because I can feel it and the kid doesn’t pull his punches when you’re slacking on the job.” A joke that still drew a smile from Brian every time Dom teased him for being the lazy one in this scenario—a giant stretch from the actual truth.

Brian’s fingers interwove with Dom’s where they locked around the wide circumference of his waist. “Don’t knock the compromise, Dom, the kid and I have a deal—a few hours of sleep in exchange for some wave action.” Choppy waves created the best lullaby for unruly babes, a fact cached from a local midwife who’d taken it upon herself to guide them through this completely unexpected road they'd be on for nearly eight months.

Dom drew him marginally closer. “I’m good just as long as you are.” Because pep talks had moved up the ladder of his skill set, a thing that had become nearly fully Brian-centered as of late. So he locked up his muscles just enough to fight the drift without risking collapsing into the waves. “But I know there’s a fifteen minute window between Team Hangry and Bri-Flight time, so you can’t blame me for keeping my guard up.” Dom learned quickly that a hungry Brian was an agitated Brian who morphed into a sneaky Brian who took off just as fast as Dom could blink.

“You know I’m easy--”Now Brian’s favorite running joke, given their circumstances, “however you want to take care of us--” the sudden shiver down Dom’s spine had nothing to do with the sea, “--I know I’ll like; just as long as we get to go for a drive later. Can’t start gettin’ rusty, right?” Brian turned his head a few degrees to almost meet Dom’s mouth at the intersection of his shoulder.

Dom drew Brian closer into the hard wet line of his body—back to front, the dizzying scent of sunshine and the lush softness of new life was a thick fog over the sea spray, and so damn addictive that Dom didn’t hesitate to take a taste or three from Brian’s lips.

“You don’t want to get rusty, _O’Conner_ , I know. Been hearin’ you say that for months now. Been watchin’ you haul ass just cuz you still can."

“Seriously, Dom, you’ve been watching my ass for other reasons, just admit it.” The suggestion of why was stated with maximum cheek and a devious spark in Brian’s eyes. The  ecliptic flash of his teeth was enough to get Dom’s blood thick and hot like a gust of rut.

“Just remember, Bri: just because the seat goes back doesn’t mean it goes _all the way_ back.” Because they had to face facts: Brian was big. The belly was a source of pride. Not only because it reminded them that they were still beating the odds but Brian was carrying big and low like he had more pups in there than just the one. A Toretto tradition, if Dom remembered right. Leashing the desire for more was easy when faced with the unintended consequences of bait and switching Mother Nature.

So Brian dropping a _compromise_ here and there became the theme of their relationship since the Great Rio Reveal. Dom could stand his ground, reveled in how he controlled the elements and became the immoveable object. Of course, Brian would drop into his life and derail its course like the smiling unstoppable force that he was.

Was there any choice other than the ocean for them at this point? Two forces of nature found calm in the scale of titan that they couldn’t tame.

“Whatever you want.” Dom promised in a soft rumble. “I’ll make sure you—or both of you get it.” A promise to care, a declaration of action was the only type of sweet nothing that got Brian hot and ready these days.

The wait didn’t matter—minutes, hours, days, months, and years—Dom learned to wait. But this? This slow bloom of Brian’s body changing, because of Dom; no, because of them, Brian would argue, gave Dom a bigger appreciation of time and compromise.

He could give Brian anything he wanted—would give him anything as long as he wanted as the consequence of Dom being the catalyst for this. So he let the ocean waves rock his body, rock them in a lulling sway that subjugated the strongest of wills and went against the tide of his instincts by remaining still with Brian at the center of his looped arms. Both knew that Brian liked these walks into the sea as much as the kid did, mainly for the comfort of weightlessness offering  a reprieve from pressure on hips not designed to carry pups.

Any alpha could be strong, effortlessly so, but defiance was at Brian’s core. He had no respect for laws or dynamics or physiology, apparently. When faced with the pulse-stuttering tide of Dom’s rut, he’d pulled Dom into a quiet motel room that was just a tick above quiet and just clean enough and locked eyes with Dom, who was still skirting a fine line between fight or flight and decided to defy his alpha instincts by bearing his throat without blinking, dropping a steel-cored order to Dom.

“Submit.” Brian had commanded.

And Dom high on the deluge of hormones in his blood and Brian’s shameless pheromones accepted the call. “Submission,” he snarled before attacking the glands on Brian’s neck to leave his mark. His teeth drawing blood as Brian’s body vibrated against the instinct to fight but accepting Dom’s submission when they got down to the mattress and Brian kept the ride slow and steady a deliberate downshift from the torque building in low in Dom’s belly, the steel trigger of his hips waiting to surge up into Brian to fill him up in a futile attempt.

Not so futile after all. The humidity of pheromones drew thicker as Brian guided him through the seamless days of _slower, slow, fast, faster, and eruption_ into every corner of the room and each surface unfortunately capable of bearing their weight.

There was understanding when Brian let Dom go, love when Brian let himself be had, and forever started the moment Brian defied nature. _Corpus Quodque_ was the textbook term Mia taught them, but all of them had heard the dirty jokes, often brutal, about _Inverts_. So many that Dom stopped flinching a long time ago. Dom still hadn’t figured out if Brian just didn’t care or if he really did have ice in his veins to not fear what could come at them, at their kid, for their defiance. If they were lucky, they’d have enough time in one place to make the distinction.

Ego took a long hard walk the minute Dom wised up the fact that Brian had flipped. All because of him, Dom reminded himself. But compromise it was between them. If Brian could carry his pup, then Dom could make them a home: cook, clean, whatever omegas and betas were supposed to do, Dom did to keep Brian comfortable and happy.

They accepted that they didn’t keep to anyone’s definition of normal, made a new formula to translate the physics of their bond, burst through the lines of international jurisdiction, racked up felonies, got a house on a beach, and snuck off to a priest after the first sunset when Brian’s stomach was no longer rigidly flat. It didn’t matter if the paper they signed wasn’t completely on the up and up and might not stand up under legal scrutiny if Hobbs made good on his promise, but it was enough to formalize the pledges they’d made with actions and rarely with words until Rio.

Slowly, Brian shifted inside Dom’s arms until his back faced the horizon and his eyes smiled at Dom. “How about this?” The casual opener to a compromise, “We go into town. Do the local thing, like mangoes, arroz doce, and samosas, maybe? You take us there and I bring us back.”

“In the Charger.” Dom added. “It’s got room to _accommodate_.” Just in case, Brian got a craving for something clear off menu before they got back to the house. Quiet wasn’t natural for either of them and their pup only slept when given enough noise to get comfortable. A pair of headphones frequently stretched across the widest pole of Brian’s belly, offering up a chaotic lullaby to a pup that would be born with sparks in its eyes and fearlessness in its veins.

Dom followed the soft transition of Brian's lips from smiling to kissable. “Then we can talk.” Brian leaned closer.

And Dom met him. “What about, Mr. Crytpic?”

“That’s Cryptic-Toretto since we’re being all formal and shit.” Dom nipped Brian’s lips for being a smartass yet Brian continued to smirk unrepentantly, “We can talk about Spain. Great roads, beaches, hospitals from what I hear from a little birdie.“

The same birdie had been making the rounds since they reached the half-way point. “Just slightly closer to home.” And the rest of their growing family. “I’ll think about it.” 

“I can hear the _if_ , Dom, so what’s the gimme?”

“Beat me to the shore.”

“Really? If we’re racing at the speed of driftwood, I can.”

“Naw, I know you’re better at water than me, Mr. Surfside, so I can take the ‘L’ when I see one.”

“Then I’ll lead you back to the beach to keep you from floating away.” Brian promised, tightening his arms around Dom’s neck.

Dom figured he should stop questioning Mother Nature, just accept what was staring back at him, and make the best of the path stretched before him. Just him and Brian and their pup still unnamed. Two dots at the anchored end of the horizon. This close to land, he could go anywhere as long Brian was along for the ride.

“After the sunset then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Corpus quodque: Body Paradox  
> arroz doce:Rice pudding (portugeuese,


	4. Gisele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Giselle had never been one for convention; how could she when her dynamic said lead but soft skin, beautiful face, and pouty smile recommended that she follow.

Wintering in Crete began with miles of empty beach to travel in order to conquer Han’s challenge of tasting every stand in the sand. An impromptu picnic on the steps of a Venetian fortress didn’t seem so lofty between the bites of flaky [Sarikopite](http://googreece.com/greek-food-sarikopites/) and the savory brine of olives and stuffed grape leaves with millions of dollars swelling intangibly larger inside a digital bank.

Han offered a sample of olives, one green and the other a deep purple, and stared at the motion of her mouth like a guilty man waiting for reprieve. She smirked at him, short and sweet, his attention satisfying her internal drive to be the victor. But Giselle had never been one for convention; how could she when her dynamic said lead but her soft skin, beautiful face, and pouty smile recommended that she follow.

So, she imagined a distant past of fabled beta lovers swapping sweet love songs and the soft and fragile pieces of true love inside these decimated halls and gave Han a [Loukoumades](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/loukoumades/) **,** the scent of honey prickling her sensitive nose like the grains of cinnamon rolling beneath her fingertips. She answered his prospective question with a playful quirk of her eyebrow: _an equal exchange for equal reward_ , it said as he took a bite too big to capture the fried ball of dough but a brave effort to start.

Giselle didn’t need him to her serve her—submit to her to want him. Han finished the second half of the pastry, giving her the opportunity to watch his tongue lap at the stray freckles of sugar like the Aegan against the mouth of the island.

The sun radiated cool warmth, still bright enough to make her lean her head back like the desert flowers of her childhood, only dimming in comparison to the spark of heat from spying the satellites of sugar and cinnamon rebelling from the corner of Han’s mouth. Giselle’s feline grin was Han’s only warning before she pounced, rocking him back to lean against an ancient column to be braced against the slow power of her kiss. A show of her strength sending a low rumble vibrating through his chest.

The motion of their lips so slow and indulgent compared to the frenzy of her rut. They’d rent a boat, a vessel with as much luxury as their new status allowed and had gone out to the middle of the sea and for four days their bodies had been an Ouroboros of sensation—just the heat of her aching skin and bursts of cool with each come down. Her ruts had been like that, been anchored into satisfying her needs for longer than a couple of restless and wild days. As much as her instinct told her to mate, Han gave her the control to actually feel. They were incapable of remaining still, even if they were mostly silent.

As she carded her long fingers through the black silk of his hair, the twin buzzing began; her cellphone skittering over the careless heap of her sandals while Han’s danced between their locked thighs.

Giselle pulled back after the next buzz, smirking as Han uttered a small groan. “Should I? No, I’ll check it later.” Then leaned in for her to find more hidden dustings of sugar.

She stopped the hunt with a playful nip on his lip. She dug into his pocket “You’re not scared of surprises or are you still upset about Roman’s little candy castle?” which had been large enough for a small family.

His thumbs made quick work of sliding through the lock code and swiping beyond the text alert of _Arrival_. “The candy castle envy can wait; the bigger arrival is here and it ain’t Elvis.” Han reported as he expanded the message across the screen including the picture attached.

It was definitely not Elvis or Roman’s next food-related ambition. The picture was of a baby. The baby. The product of the only alpha-alpha pair that she’d ever met. Funny, the infant didn’t possess horns or claws or any of the other atrocious things that were whispered about the unfortunates born to alpha-alpha matings.

It—He, as in Jack—looked like a baby. A very cute baby that had Dom’s lips and Brian’s everything else, hair still too light to determine the final color. Very far removed from the A word (abomination) that crowned children born to dual alphas.

Such a curious thing watching a body designed to be hard, to protect, to fight, grow soft and round to cradle. She wondered if she’d ever be as soft one day, even if it was natural for her body to nurture as it was to neutralize. 

Alpha males didn’t know what to do with her. Most pretended that they weren’t threatened. Others preferred not to waste time by going toe to toe, challenging her as soon as they got the first whiff. Every time, she'd been challenged, she’d won.

Braga was a small man. A beta with big ideas but smart enough to know when to differ and when to operate carefully with her.

Meeting them at Braga’s rally, Dom’s alpha swagger radiated without thought. Apparent like a light shone on dark. O’Conner surprised her with his cool confidence that contrasted with his pretty face. The pretty looks said beta, maybe a headstrong omega, but his confidence and dare to confront Dom’s late maneuver to win was the mark of an alpha. Driving away with only a sharp look and silence was a maneuver she recognized as her own.

Giselle flirted with Dom. Like a snake with a charmer. A game to see who would blink first. His resulting words were unexpected.

He looked like the typical male alpha who would balk at being challenged by a female of any sort. Not the type that liked strong. So she’d challenged him and he’d chuckled confidently without a chip on his shoulder as she entered his personal territory. In retrospect, Dom’s ability to run off the make and model of his ideal mate came by way of rote memorization due to familiarity. Those tricky percentages of angel and devil carefully calibrated to fit the mysterious O’Conner.  

Dom intrigued her. Between the rare respect and his quick save, she owed it to check out his offer, her faith holding out because he and O’Conner were two of the few alphas that she could trust. Different, she had always been, now she finally had a place where her difference gave her a home.

She looked at Jack from multiple angles, thinking about getting a new bike, stealing millions of dollars, meeting Han, rut with Han, the Autobahn with Han, and hundreds of roads in between and it sounded like a fairy tale. One that she might share with the kid when he was older.

“Cute kid.” Han stated.

Knowing his thoughts, she threw out, “One day.” This was how they’d always been: his subtle paired with her direct.

“Yeah?” Giselle kissed him again, stroking his cheek. “Not too soon I hope.”

Giselle shook her head. “Not now but later. How about Shangai next?” Leaning into the loose lasso of her arms around his neck.

Han hummed lowly, thought a few seconds as he was caged against the pillar once more. “I always wanted to try fresh dumplings. Street-made, of course.”

“Then we’ll go...” A kiss. “—in a little while.” Maybe in the spring.

There were more directions for her to choose and plenty of roads on which Han would drive them.  

 


	5. Hobbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hobbs was always meant to be tough, wasn’t designed to be any other way, because he was alpha bred and alpha born.

This wasn’t the first time that Hobbs had a broken arm, and this one wasn’t close to the most painful. Luke Hobbs wasn’t a man to be laid up—come hell or high water or international manhunts, he prided himself for being as unstoppable as he willed himself to be. So right now in the too small hospital bed in Mt. Sinai, a broken arm, a grade I Salter-Harris fracture of his left fibula, an aching back, and a contused face, he was certainly laid low but not out. 

He was never out when he had his pup beside him.

Samantha guarded his bedside like an alpha three times her size. Her little stiff upper lip remained strong, only quivering tremulously like the wings of a hummingbird when she’d first seen him and had only given him a handful of tears before letting him wipe them away to stare in his bruised eyes.

Hobbs stroked her long dark hair and harnassed his pain by smiling as his pup plotted the future.

“When you get better, Daddy, you’ll get ‘em, right? You’re gonna lay the smackdown on this guy and then you and Auntie Elena are gonna take him to Supermax.” He and his pup were of the same mind.

“Exactly, Sam-Sam, then we’ll go to Disney Land--”hell, they’ll tapdance with Mickey Mouse when they got there, “—once that sonu—bad man is locked up tighter than Grandma Samara’s Figure Four Lock.” His Ma taught him how to take a body down with a look or a piledriver while his Dad taught him how to hunt.

Hobbs was always meant to be tough, wasn’t designed to be any other way, because he was alpha bred and alpha born. His parents stuck it out, just a pair of alphas against the whole world, shunned by their parents. It hadn’t always been easy as they’d moved around the country trying to get settled, because they never stayed long once word got out that the new couple on the block were a couple of alphas raising a kid.

L.A. ended up being better as most people had the good taste to mind their business. Not always easy, Hobbs remembered, better now since Sam had a couple of schoolmates whose parents were A-A. They were alright people like most, good enough to have Samantha sleep over and for Hobbs to brave a sleepover or two on his own. He was a single alpha raising a kid; add on that she was an A-A kid and he had to be twice as good a parent since he was going at it alone.

His pup curled close to his side, resting on her head on his chest and he wouldn’t break a word of how much it hurt to have her squeeze him so tightly, scared that she would lose him. Not nearly as scared as he’d been when he and Elena flew out the window and there’d been no guarantee of a soft landing.

Pain aside, he was ready for a different kind of fight. “Will I have to worry about you, Sam? Because as soon as I catch my breath, I’m taking the bad man down and can’t do that if I’m worrying that the cavalry is gonna come charging in.” She’d been seven when a perp got in a lucky shot to his right eye, the only other time she’d seen him remotely black and blue, and Samantha had been as enraged as a little tenacious alpha pup could’ve been and managed to convince his Ma to take her down to the Federal Processing Center so that she could glare at the perp behind bars. He’d been pissed that she’d made the trip but proud of her protective spirit.

Samantha cocked a brow stubbornly. “But Daddy--” she argued, sitting up on the side of the bed, ready to go charging as soon as he said go.

“Sam-Sam, one day you’ll learn how to pick the battles that you can win and the wars that you will rock. Til then, Baby Girl, just trust Daddy when he says he’s got this.”

“I know, Daddy.” She propped her chin on his chest and smiled at him with pearly permanent teeth. “Tell me a story—a happy one, I think, where you get to kick a lot of butt.”

Asskicking should’ve been Hobbs’s real middle name and Samantha had his permission to change hers when she turned eighteen.

He beamed at his pride and joy. “I’ll tell you about the time I kicked Dominic Toretto’s ass all over Rio.” His baby girl had an ear for a good story; one day he might tell her how he completed a tri-continent manhunt in the early stages of labor and held on until he’d returned stateside just so he could have her delivered without accidentally or intentionally getting gutted in the process.

When she smiled at him, squeezing his ribs carefully saying, “That’s my favorite one.” Hobbs could admit that Samantha was the bravest thing he’d ever done.

“One of mine, too, Sam-Sam, and it starts here in L.A. with O’Conner and Toretto’s sister breaking him out of a bus headed towards Lompoc prison.” He wrapped his good arm around her and hoped he got through the really good parts before Toretto showed up to loiter in his doorway.

He never thought in ifs, only whens, so when they survived kicking the shit out of Deckard Shaw’s wannabe Terminator-ass, then he might see if Toretto and O’Conner could be convinced to let Samantha babysit one day. He could vouch that she would be a kickass one.

One day, his baby girl would grow up to be alpha to the max: a direct extension of him with a strong back, straight like her little bones were made of steel. She was his heart. His everything. She would grow up proud and strong and live in a world where no one cared who bore whom. Until then, he’d tell her as many stories as she wanted.

“And then?” she asked after the first escape.

He kissed her head, cradling her close for all the days to come when he wouldn’t be able to. “Then we get to Brazil and that’s where the real story begins.”


	6. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since Jack was such a surprise, he and Dom never talked about more, just poured all their focus into their impossible possibility of a son: a child born from supposed wrong choices and a relentless devotion to a code.

It ended on a beach with him and his son, Dom, and the rest of their family.

As Brian chased Jack across the surf, finally snatching him up when Jack tried to pull a wobbly stutter-step to the right, Brian swung him up high and brought him down to tickle his belly and kiss his forehead. “When you’re a big boy, I’ll teach you how to surf,” he promised Jack who squealed happily, wearing a smile as bright as sunshine.

The past five years have been a cycle of life and death, a strange thing to become accustomed to when the burden of both rested across his shoulders.

Brian started chasing Jack again as the boy made a break for Dom, the other pole in this game of shore tag, but Brian slowed down, not due to the give of sand beneath his feet or the rush of cool salt water over his ankles; it was the faintest flutter low in his belly that spoke up like a reminder of _I’m here, too!_ that shifted his gears. A little thrill that filled him with more adrenaline than falling wheels first from a few miles high in the sky.

Dom had Jack folded over his shoulder, squirming like a fish on a line when he approached Brian, kicking up a neat trail of sand in his wake. “You ready for a break? Unlike the Cookie Monster, we run on other things besides sugar.” Dom searched Brian’s face as he asked, “Anything I can get you? You got that fumes in a coupla miles look on your face.”

Brian reached for Jack  ready for his son’s uncontainable energy. “Not yet.”  Brian shrugged, tired and sore but not nearly ready for the end.

Dom repositioned himself to be tagged again, though still watching Brian like a hawk. Medical clearance—Mia and her team—said  that Brian was fine as was their pup, had offered reassurance that _she_ was just as durable as the rest of the family, hadn’t tempered Dom’s hypervigilance. Or maybe, the warm thousand angle stare came from dying on a street in the heart of L.A., and only the frantic combination of Brian’s lifesaving skills and Letty’s frantic prayers kept him alive.

So back to life and death again.

Too much death had left the scales unbalanced for so long.

Was it just  weeks ago when Brian felt the stirring low in his belly as he brought the van back to the house after dropping Jack off at school? Still early enough that Dom was just finishing his coffee before heading over to the garage. Ninety degrees felt cool compared to the heat starting to prickle his skin, forming fat drops of sweat that slid down the overly eager muscles of his back and chest. He would let Dom figure it out—read the signs and catch the meaning, maybe put some playtime in if Brian still had his head on fairly straight. Let Dom try on the role of needy and wanting, dropping filthy orders in his gravelly voice, growing raspier with each wet stroke of his hand over his cock as the shadow of Brian’s knot teased him just out of reach.

A rut that strong propelled itself like alchemy, surging forth to kindle the same fire inside Dom. The tally between them was permanently fixed 51:49 in Dom’s favor. Maybe it had been in the bedroom or the kitchen, probably the garage for sentimental value that sealed the deal.

Since Jack was such a surprise, he and Dom never talked about more, just poured all their focus into their impossible possibility of a son: a child born from supposed wrong choices and a relentless devotion to a code.

From his arms, Jack flew through a wild course of arcs until Brian leaned him close to his chest and held him high enough to let Jack’s feet dangle in the water, a stray fish or two trapped in the surf beneath his toes. “I’m Aquaman, Daddy!” Screamed Jack with arms and legs flailing in wide  excited circles.

“Bri, c’mon, just watching you is making me tired.” Rome yelled from high up on the sand.

Living with a five year old consisted of living with a living battery. “Then you’re getting old, Rome!” Brian shouted back and Rome’s barbed response earned him a round of hisses and head slaps for his mouth.

The energy, the noise, the Legos tripping him up, even the minivan were worth it, up to and including the ribbing he got almost constantly for his new wheels. The scent change snuck up on him when he was alone in the van; nearly ten months of familiarity bred lifelong awareness. So Brian waited until he and Dom were alone to see if Dom could pick up on it when the scent was least adulterated.

But back then Dom was still helping Letty to figure her old life out. Then the house was gone. Han was gone. And their ghosts refused to remain buried.

The night Dom returned from the funeral with a sledgehammer in hand and an offer from Nobody, he started with: “The plan is--” cocked his head askew and scented the air as Brian leaned against the car, bruises still livid over the corner of his forehead and forming a violaceous snake over the rise of his cheekbone. The pieces fell into place with the swiftness of dominoes after a push.

“You’re staying.” Was out of Dom’s mouth before he lowered his head to sniff at Brian’s neck. A long inhale under the corner of Brian’s jaw. “You and Jack and Mia are--”

“Dom, no.” Brian held his ground. "I'm not leaving."

With extra bark in his voice, Dom countered, “Yes, you are.” Rarely had Dom ever tried to pull rank—assert his alpha nature over Brian, mostly because he knew it wouldn’t work; but the limit arrived with the constellation of events and the fraction of chance that separated life and death, and Brian’s scent carried the bitter notes of injury and oxidized copper and the salt and spice of them. But most importantly, the soft indescribable sweetness of new life.

“I can’t tell you not to come with me; I can ask though.” Dom’s hand was hot and heavy over the thin cotton of his t-shirt. “Once I told you I’d never go back. I wasn’t just talkin’ ‘bout Lompoc and I’m still not. Me and you don’t lose…well, you don’t anymore,” Dom cracked a magnanimous smirk, “After Letty, I said no more,” Until Giselle and Han, “Mia, Jack, you, and her--” He splayed his fingers over Brian's still firm lower abdomen.

Brian cocked a brow incredulously. “Really? Your nose is that good?”

“You wanna bet me, O’Conner? You must really miss losing more than I could imagine if you're plannin' to challenge me on this.” Brian pressed closer into the broad warmth of Dom’s palm. “She’s a fighter already—can’t be anything but a champ—but she’s not ready to go and neither are you.”

If Dom tried to push him, then Brian would resist and he would fail. Used to each other, both were adept to finding the weak spots and maneuvering through taps to t-boning each other off-course. It was a practical choice to stay, so Brian didn’t resist. “Ok, I’ll hold down the back and you take the front, and if you need me…” Trailing off, so Dom could finish Brian's thought.

“I know.” Then a slow sweet kiss to the cheek, lingering at the corner of his mouth until Brian rolled into the kiss. “We’re a team.”  Meaning that there would never be a lesser or a greater in their equation, just halves to a whole: two parts, one mind, one life, and one heart.

Brian’s head told him to sit this one out. Go to Santo Domingo with Mia and Jack and wait until the all-clear. His heart, though, split into disparate pieces so that he could make Han’s death right; so half stayed with Jack and the other followed Dom near-misses, misses, and direct hits until the end. Flying and falling until he landed once more and recognized what actually waited for him on the road.

His friends became his family; his family now his friends, and his children his reason for living. Alpha, beta, omega, all different, all members of the same family. The only people he could trust at his back and with his heart. The people who would teach his boy and his little girl the meaning of family.

Mia helped him to sort out his head to make the final call when Nobody came knocking. He accepted her promise to exact a harsh asskicking if anything happened to him or _her_ and he gladly accepted her threat when she took Jack into her safekeeping.

When Brian showed up in the warehouse, Dom’s expression went from resigned to understanding once Brian said, “Ride or die, remember? I know both of us can do the first, so let’s work on making the second one not an option.” 

The laughter brought him back to the here and now. “You’re slowing down, Jack. Getting tired, Bud?” Brian crouched low to let Jack wrap his arms around his neck. Jack nodded against his shoulder.

“You think he’s ready to go?” Dom asked, stepping up to rub Jack’s back.

“Almost. Maybe a story will seal the deal.” There would be inevitable stories when Jack grew up, endless teasing that he and his sister were Switch babies.

Jack reached for Dom, too, spreading his little arms around the two of them. “Yay, story-time.” He looked from Brian to Dom, making a closed loop. “Whose story?”

Brian and Dom shared a look until laughter filled in the space in lieu of an answer.

Shamelessly, Brian wagged his eyebrows grinning broad and freely. “Race you for it.” Tomorrow, Brian promised, he would live safe until the course of life gave him a new direction.

“You’re on, O’Conner.” Dom stated with the ease of turning a broad corner with clear roads ahead, a new life waiting at the end of the block. 

Maybe, there was something to this perspective if they took the wait and see approach. Or maybe, they'd skip ahead to read the fine print. 

**Author's Note:**

> Slang and Translations:  
> arroz com feijão: rice and beans (Portuguese)  
> Obrigado: thanks (Portuguese)  
> Inverts: Homosexuals (slang reference from the 1800s-1940s)  
> Strong Love: synonymous with "Same Love"


End file.
